Posted on 2011-01-22

One morning, about a week after Bingley's engagement with Jane had been formed, as he and the females of the family were sitting together in the dining room, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window, by the sound of a carriage; and they perceived a chaise and four driving up the lawn. It was too early in the morning for visitors, and besides, the equipage did not answer to that of any of their neighbours. The horses were post; and neither the carriage, nor the livery of the servant who preceded it, were familiar to them. As it was certain, however, that somebody was coming, Bingley instantly prevailed on Miss Bennet to avoid the confinement of such an intrusion, and walk away with him into the shrubbery.

Bingley cast a sidelong glance at the woman beside him as they hurried across the lawn in the opposite direction of the drive, away from the intruding visitors. Her expression was determined as they made quick work of the distance to a nearby copse -- clearly she was as uninterested in meeting the interlopers as he.

Bingley had no idea who it was who had pulled up just now in the fancy carriage, and, frankly, he had no interest in knowing. His whole intent in coming to Longbourn, as he had done nearly every single day for the past week, was to spend time with his intended. It was bad enough that he had to spend time with the rest of her family in order to fulfill that aim. Visitors from outside the family, however -- now that was beyond enough.

Particularly at this time of day. It was far too early -- almost unforgivably rude, really -- for company to descend. Why, they had barely finished breakfast and were just starting their tea and coffee when they had heard the wheels on gravel. Having to face visitors that early ruins the digestion; it was difficult enough for Bingley to face his own sister over breakfast as a general rule, so he would be one to know.

But at least he'd had the brilliancy -- even without his coffee -- to propose a walk. And thank heavens Miss Bennet (Jane, as he enjoyed calling her in private) had been quick enough to accept him. They'd barely grabbed their outer clothing and escaped out the side door before they'd heard the front door open. Bingley could only hope it wasn't someone for him. But they were nearly to the shrubbery, and then they could do their best to hide out until whoever it was left. If it were for him, they would simply have to call at Netherfield and leave a message.

"Quite a close thing," he remarked as they finally pulled to a stop out of view of the house. He did his best to regulate his breathing; their pace might easily have been classified as a run, and he'd had the benefit for the past week of Mrs. Bennet's finely set breakfasts.

"Indeed, it was," Miss Bennet said, her own breathing ragged. She set her hands on her hips as she glanced first at the house and then further into the shrubbery, her expression conflicted. "Do you think this is far enough in?"

Bingley glanced toward the house, then further into the shrubbery, and then at his betrothed. "Far enough for what?"

Miss Bennet pursed her lips as she looked at him, her eyes slightly narrowed. Then, with no warning whatsoever, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his for barely a fraction of a second. When she stepped back, her face and neck, visible above her scarf, was as red as a tomato. Bingley felt his own face begin to heat. They stared at each other for a few seconds, then both looked elsewhere.

"Miss Bennet..." Bingley choked out.

"Oh, Mr. Bingley, I am so sorry," Miss Bennet said, her rapid words overriding his embarrassed stutter. "I have wanted to do that for -- oh, you must think I am completely unprincipled and wanton. I assure you I've never done such a thing in my life, and I--"

"Miss Bennet ... Jane, I liked it," Bingley said, interrupting her babble. He placed a calming hand on her arm when he noticed the tears forming in her eyes. "I think it must be perfectly acceptable for a young lady to kiss her intended in private. And such a chaste kiss, too. I do not think any the less of you for it. If I may be honest, in fact, I have been wanting to kiss you for some time, as well."

"Oh," she breathed, her lips rounding on the vowel. Her eyes were cast down, and he couldn't quite read the expression on her face. She seemed to be thinking about something, and he wished he knew what it was. She glanced up at him for a moment, and then dropped her gaze again, and the blush that had begun to recede from her cheeks suddenly came flooding back in again.

"Jane, is there anything the matter?" he asked. When she seemed hesitant to say anything, he took her hands in his and squeezed them. "You may tell me -- I hope that we have enough trust between us that you feel you can share anything with me. Anything you like."

She bit her lip, and then glanced up at him, her eyes wide. "You said that you wished to kiss me," she said hesitantly.

"I do, indeed," he said fervently.

"Then ... then will you?" she asked on a breath.

He needed no further prompting. With an enthusiasm distinctly his, he embraced Miss Bennet in his arms and pulled her lips to his. She was surprised at first, unsure what to do, but soon they developed an understanding of each other. Their kisses, tentative yet bold, were sweet and passionate and adoring all at the same time. Bingley could focus only on her: the scent of her, tickling his nose; the feel of her hair, velvet beneath his fingers; the delicious taste of her lips; the soft sounds of discovered desire that she made deep in her throat. The experience was heady and intoxicating, and Bingley was soon far beyond thinking about the world around them.

So it came as a surprise when loud voices suddenly intruded upon his notice.

"This is not to be borne! Miss Bennet, I insist on being satisfied! Has he, has my nephew, made you an offer of marriage?"

Blinking, Bingley looked in the direction of the loud, angry voice, but nothing could be seen through the shrubbery. He looked down at the woman in his arms, but her seraphic and slightly dazed expression showed no more comprehension of the meaning behind such an unwarranted and obscure outburst. Truth be told, it showed no comprehension of anything other than the pleasure of his kiss. Bingley felt a surge of pride and would have renewed the activity thus, but the next words by the angry woman beyond their portion of shrubbery stopped him:

"It ought to be so; it must be so, while he retains the use of his reason. But your arts and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation, have made him forget what he owes to himself and to all his family. You may have drawn him in."

Now this sounded interesting. Seduction! Intrigue! This was getting good. Bingley couldn't hear the response made to this -- it was too low to be caught through the intervening shrubbery. He moved closer, hoping to overhear more.

"Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such language as this. I am almost the nearest relation he has in the world, and am entitled to know all his dearest concerns."

Miss Bennet! Well, it made sense that a Bennet would be involved, in that whoever was speaking was standing amid the Bennets' shrubbery -- but what with Lydia gone and married, Bingley didn't think there was a Bennet left who would be dashing about catching men in her trap. Except perhaps Mrs. Bennet, he considered. Now, such impudent behavior as the so-addressed Miss Bennet was evidently displaying could have easily been laid at Elizabeth Bennet's door, perhaps...

"But you are not entitled to know mine," came the sound of a new voice; "nor will such behavior as this ever induce me to be explicit."

Bingley's eyebrows rose. It was Elizabeth Bennet! But who, in heaven's name, was she talking to?

"Charles, what--"

With an abrupt motion, Bingley put a finger to his lips as he indicated the conversation on the other side of the shrubbery. Miss Bennet's brows went down in concern, and she opened her mouth to say something more, but she was forestalled by a sudden rise in volume:

"... This match, to which you have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. No, never! Mr. Darcy is engaged to my daughter. Now what have you to say?"

Darcy! This woman was worried about Darcy?

Bingley was staggered. And by the looks of his betrothed, the seduction of Mr. Darcy by Elizabeth Bennet was a fairly well kept secret.

And yet ... Bingley thought back to several things his friend had let slip whilst staying at Netherfield, both last year and this, and the behavior exhibited at Pemberley, and suddenly things began to fall into place. Bingley had suspected that his friend was struggling with something, but had merely assumed it was a family matter or perhaps business to do with his estate. And the increase in his ill-at-ease manner in Hertfordshire recently was not so much different than elsewhere that Bingley hadn't thought about it for more than five seconds. But now it had new meaning.

Darcy was in love!

This was of all things wonderful! They would be brothers! Bingley could not think of a better future, of one that would give him more pleasure. Some time ago he had harbored a hope that perhaps his sister Caroline might spark Darcy's interest, but he'd long since given up on that idea. It wouldn't be right to wish that fate on a man.

This woman -- this must be Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Darcy's aunt. Bingley had not a clue why this woman seemed so disgusted by the idea of Elizabeth Bennet becoming her niece. She would be a lovely niece, Bingley imagined. Oh, he had no doubt the woman said something to the effect of her reasons for her dislike -- she did say something about her daughter, he thought -- but he was too busy contemplating the very great time he would have as Darcy's brother to listen further. He had always wanted a brother like Darcy: one who would go out shooting with him, play billiards, maybe go to a cock fight, teach him how to pick out good horseflesh.

Of course, he and Darcy could do these things together whether they were brothers or not, but it would be entirely pleasing to introduce him: "Darcy, my brother." Bingley tried how that would feel on his lips and liked it very much. Not nearly as much as kissing his betrothed, he thought with a glance in Miss Bennet's -- Jane's! -- direction, but then nothing in recent memory was quite as pleasant as that. In point of fact, he wouldn't mind renewing that occupation.

He stepped closer to Jane, laying his hand on her arm, but she brushed him away impatiently, leaning closer to the shrubbery in an effort to hear her sister's conversation. Bingley sighed and stepped back again.

"Tell me once for all, are you engaged to him?" came the voice of Darcy's aunt.

"I am not."

Bingley's heart plummeted. His dreams of calling Darcy "brother" shattered.

"And will you promise me, never to enter into such an engagement?"

"I will make no promise of the kind."

Hope! Bingley felt his face light up. The bickering continued and then faded away on the other side of the shrubbery, but Bingley's mind was otherwise engaged on the happy thought of Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet wed. Perhaps, even, they could be married together in a double wedding!

Oh, this was perhaps the best day in the history of all mankind! Well, of course, Bingley supposed, there was the day Christ was born, and then the time his father had given him a new pony for his birthday. So perhaps it was the third best day. But, still! He had given his betrothed her first kiss and he had learned that Darcy was to be his brother!

He looked at his betrothed, hoping to see a matching smile on her face, but her brow was drawn and her whole expression spoke of concern. Well, no doubt, he thought, she was concerned for her sister's feelings not being reciprocated: she did not know Darcy's mind as he did, so she would be naturally concerned. Well, there was an easy solution to that, really. The moment Bingley returned to Netherfield, he would send his friend a letter in London to return as quickly as possible. Then Bingley would see to it himself that the two lovebirds had some time alone -- he wouldn't mind facilitating some time alone with his betrothed at the same time -- and hey, presto! they would be engaged.

Bingley smiled again, pleased with himself. At last, he could return the favor Darcy did him last week in revealing Miss Bennet's true feelings. Oh, yes, there was all that rot about Darcy having deceived him before, but what of it? He was engaged now, and that was all that mattered. Bingley glanced again at his betrothed, taking in that concerned expression. She seemed far too serious. He knew a way to fix that.

He'd tell her about Darcy and Elizabeth later. Or maybe not -- it would be a fun surprise.

And so it was that, just as Darcy was preparing to leave London after a revealing confrontation with his aunt, he received an express from his friend Bingley. The missive, so hurried in its manner, was entirely blotted and smeared to nonrecognition. But he came to Netherfield anyway and, well, readers, we know the rest...